Jealous
by Pied Piper
Summary: The first day is the easiest. [Oneshot]


**Jealous**

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The first day is the easiest. [Oneshot]

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**Author's Note**: The story referenced at the end of this oneshot is a real one. Look up, "Happiest Moment," by Lydia Davis, and weep.

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_I'm jealous of the rain  
That falls upon your skin  
It's closer than my hands have been  
I'm jealous of the rain_

("Jealous" by Labrinth)

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I started writing you the very first day. Miyako, ever so over prepared, gave me the idea, which Jou hadn't been very happy about. But you know how I dislike secrets. The minute I saw Jou put his arm out, hand raised to stop her reach, I had to know what she was trying to give me. It wasn't wrapped up or anything, and still had some of the price-mark stickers on them, but it turned out to be a complete set: a little pencil case with a India blue ink fountain pen, silver mechanical pencil, and a crisp white rubber eraser, and then a small saddle stich bound gold-flaked sketchbook. That's when Miyako first suggested I should write down my thoughts to you, and Jou said I should go back to bed, and so I took the notebook and the case with me and left them on top of the pillow. I think I slept for three more hours. It felt like three years, or three seconds.

Iori says three is an auspicious number. He made me some tea—freshly ground and brewed, no bags in sight!—and kept me company when I threw it up. That first day I couldn't keep anything down, even water. Looking back, I think my body was doing it on purpose. It's like, if I didn't let anything else touch my lips, then I could make sure you were the last and only thing I'd ever taste. I think I must have said this to some of them, because I have this odd memory of Jun saying it's stupid, but Willis saying it's logical. He told me you kissed him once, years back, on a fraternity dare in college. He says I can kiss him whenever I miss you. Jun got really mad at him for saying that, but it made me laugh, because I think you would have laughed, too.

Well, that all ended when Yamato came over; I think Iori called him after I threw up the third time. He made some plain broth, and sat in our room, and wouldn't leave until he saw me swallow three whole sips of it. I did drink most of it in the end, but cried and yelled and called him horrible names the entire time, and he didn't even care. I spilled the rest of the broth all over the rug and hit him in the face with the spoon when he tried to pick up the bowl. Nothing. He just picked up the bowl, and the spoon, and folded the little rug, and left.

Meiko bought me that rug. It's not exactly my style, but she'd spent her first paycheck on it, and you know how I like presents. Except you'd say that it's not exactly presents I like, but the sacrificial deference of gift giving, like the fact that of all the things and people she could have spent her very first salary stub on she picked me, and in picking me she was saying, It's you I like most.

Sora brought flowers. She didn't say anything about the smell of the broth on the floor or the swollen lump the spoon had made on Yamato's jaw, but she did say that Miyako's fountain pen was pretty. We lay down together and practiced drawing circles in the notebook for a while. We could have taken turns with the ink and paper sitting up, but I know what she came over for, really. She's the only person I'll ever let lay on your pillow.

I must have fallen asleep again, after that, because Daisuke came in next and I can usually hear him when he does, that heavy left-footed gait of his. Do you know, he hugs like you? All heat and limbs and weight, like he's trying to imprint himself on my skin, or anyway make his remember the feel of mine.

Ken stood politely in the doorway the entire time Daisuke talked. I didn't look at him once. I should have, but I knew if I did, I'd see my face reflected back, and I wasn't ready for that yet. Still, it was nice of him to come by, when I know how hard it is for him; you know how much he looked up to you, the way he did Osamu. I wonder how I'll be the next time one of us loses one of us.

Maybe I'll be like Koushiro. He cleaned up the broth stains, for one, and then went on to clean down the entire apartment, all while I was showing Michael how much better I'd gotten with the fountain pen since Sora's lessons. Kou washed all our dishes, organized our mail, and did a load of our laundry. He kept your mug where you'd left it on the counter, your newspaper on top of the stack at your work bench, and your down jacket by its hook on the closet door. I know I'm going to get up from this bed soon and see the mug and the stack and the clothes and think you'll walk back through that door again, picking everything up just as Koushiro had left it for you. I bet if I had told Koushiro about not wanting to taste anything after you, he'd have understood.

I don't know how to make Yamato understand. I tried a few days later, mostly to say sorry. The bruise had flushed to a damp blue, echoing the slight of his eyes, eyes that smiled the It's okay his mouth couldn't say. I bet if Yamato had told me it was going to be okay, I'd have believed it could be a lot earlier than I did that first day. Takeru tells me not to worry, that he's keeping an eye on his brother, that they all are, just like they're all going to be there for me. Can you believe, I was _that_ close to hitting him with a spoon, too, when he said that to me? I don't know what's more absurd: that I could have ever entertained the thought, or that he could have ever believed I was the one they needed to protect, when you were the one who'd gone.

It's easier to write to where you've gone, than to you.

It's like that story you told me once, about this guy's happiest moment being the story his wife would often tell him of a trip she took without him. How the time he was happiest, ever in his life, is the time his wife went somewhere else, without him. And how she'd had such a wonderful experience that she'd always talk about it, excitedly and perfectly, and he'd always listen to her tell him the story of it, and every time he'd watch her perfect excitement, and think as he looked at her, This is my happiest moment. That's how he loved her. That's how he loved.

Baby. I'm not like him. I don't love like him. I'm too jealous. I'm not sure of what, but I think it's of you, or wherever you've gone. Because wherever that is, Taichi, I just know that I don't like the idea that you can have experiences that I can't share with you. I don't like that you went somewhere without me. I don't like that you can't tell me where you went, tell me anything at all. I don't like that I can't taste you anymore, or hear my name on your lips, or your weight on my skin. I don't like where you've gone.

Hikari says—

No. Another time.

Today is the first day. Tomorrow is another. I will collect all of them here, every first, every day.

Yours, only.

Mi


End file.
